


Little Deaths

by Vrunka



Series: Transgressions, Sins, the Unforgivable [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pretentious religious imagery, and SMUT, probably angst too, slight body worship, slight stink kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: They have done this a hundred times. A thousand. Jack has no more rights to pre-mission jitters. But Gabe could die, he could die and those thoughts Jack just can't take.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I keep alluding to religion with this pairing. Really I don't?? Something about old soldiers maybe? Idk. Heed the tags please, we're going full on sin mode here

Below the window, the city sprawls in the night.

Jack leans against the pane glass, cool and damp against his forehead. It was raining, not all that long ago, the streets below are still glistening with it. Pockets of fog drifting over the pavement like ghosts. Untouchable, indescribable.

Jack doesn't try.

Across the street, a neon sign lights the misting air like a beacon, kanji in electric pink. It washes over Jack's skin. Too bright for the darkness, the quiet of the night.

Jack glances over his shoulder.

Gabe's head is bent between his shoulders. Rosary between his fingers. Pearlescent beads gone pink in the lighting. Shades of red-purple against Gabe's skin like bruises.

Harsh and indifferent.

They aren't supposed to be here. Or at least, they're supposed to be lying low.

Jack guesses that's the word for what they're doing. Waiting, suspended, for whatever it is that's going to happen.

One of Gabe's beads clicks against the desk he is sitting at. Rolled between his fingers. Gabe is praying. Jack remembers some of it. The Agony in the Garden. The Crowning with Thorns. Jesus Falls a Second Time.

Hail Mary, full of grace.

Over and over.

It's been a long damn time since he's taken any stock in religion at all.

But he watches Gabe pray in silence. Won't take that from him. This. Whatever it is. Whatever peace it brings. The world is ending, they are watching it crumble. Overwatch, their fledgling infant child, stands firm between the world that is and could be.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

He can't remember the rest. Something about blessings. The fruit of thy womb.

Another bead slips through Gabe's grip. Another bead bounces against the hardwood of the desk.

Outside the window the neon buzzes, barely audible, but just present enough to rake at Jack's nerves. He tugs the blinds down, rickety and bent and too loud. Warped out of shape with age and disuse. They hang crooked, not meeting completely, the neon lighting still gets through.

Paints Jack's skin sickly pink.

Gabe is looking at him, distracted from his prayers by the noise. Frowning.

"You all right?" He asks.

"Yeah," Jack says, looking away. The wallpaper around the window seat is peeling, the plaster under swollen slightly from the rain. No one has been here for a very long time. "Sorry," he says, like an afterthought, "I didn't mean to--"

"Almost done anyway." Gabe swallows. Places the rosary on the desk, rolls it under his palm. Jack hadn't even realized he was watching again. Gabe's skin in the dark, shadows and neon.

It's surreal.

"You nervous?" Gabe asks, eyes flickering up and down Jack's form. Gaze like heat, fire. Jack rubs his hand across the back of his neck and Gabe's eyes narrow. "We've done this sort of thing a hundred times."

"I know. I'm not--"

What's the point in lying? What does it get either of them?

Jack swallows around the sentence, shakes his head.

"I don't want to see you get hurt."

There it is.

Bare and honest. Bloody and scraped raw. The skinned and terrible truth of it.

They're soldiers, getting hurt is part of the job. The selflessness comes with the title. Jack is breaking character--breaking form-- with his selfish truths.

Gabe seems to turn the words over in his head. Handling them with a delicacy Jack isn't fully sure that they deserve. He doesn't look as disappointed as Jack figured he might.

"What makes you think I'm gonna?" A rare edge of teasing. Gabe is not as serious as his face conveys, there is a softness under the shell. Jack, somehow, has pierced that place, unlocked that tenderness.

Gutted him.

Jack licks his lips. Over a year now they have known each other. Rarely, rarely do they speak so frankly. "It's just what I'm thinking."

"I'm not going to get hurt. That's what you're there for. Got each other's backs, right?"

"But if--"

"And if it does happen, it happens," Gabe says. Shrugging. He is playing it off nonchalant. Jack has felt the trembling in his muscles. Has seen the nervousness in Gabe's eyes.

They'd have to be inhuman not to feel something in these trying times. Some flutter of unease.

"For the record though," Gabe says, "it's not like I wanna see you get hurt either, Jack."

"Would look pretty bad on your record if you did I guess."

"Don't be such an asshole."

Jack grins. Gabe has not said 'I love you'. Jack has not either. He's not even fully sure that is what this is. Subtle flirting. Lingering hands and glances. Pupils blown wide.

Gabe has been almost shy in his approach. Gentle. Wary. It comes with the territory of soldier, Jack supposes. They're supposed to be tactical, planned.

Jack debates between closing the distance between them and finally ending this whole drawn out game or letting the moment slide.

Outside the rain has picked back up; Jack can hear it drumming against the window. Drowning out the buzzing neon.

Gabe is watching him. His eyes glitter like low light, cheeks bruised with shadow. He needs to shave, his goatee is just a little ragged around the edges.

Jack closes his eyes.

He lets the moment go.

He always does.

There is a lumpy mattress that has been shoved into one corner of the room. Jack considers it. Can imagine the vagrants who have probably spent long, drunk nights on it. He shakes his head, curls back into the window seat.

"Hey, Jack," Gabe says. Jack glances back at him. Holding his breath, unintentional. Gabe is smiling. "We're gonna be fine," he says.

A hundred times.

A million times.

They've done this dance, over and over.

Hail Mary, full of grace. Blessed art thou among women and blessed the fruit of thy womb.

There it is.

Jack closes his eyes again, leans against the blinds. His weight can do nothing more to ruin them further.

The sound of the rain lulls him into a half-doze.

He dreams of Omnics.

He always dreams of Omnics.

Staring down the barrel of a Bastion unit. The vague shape of Gabe's silhouette. Bullet casings bouncing against concrete.

Jack opens his eyes, jolts awake. Limbs going akimbo, boots scraping against the hardwood of the floor. His fingers dig into the swollen, rotting plaster.

Gabe is looking at him.

There is a question in the quirk of his eyebrows.

Jack scrubs a hand across his chin. The jacket that has been laid over his chest in his sleep slips down to his lap. Gabe's jacket. The familiar scent of cigarettes and the spice of his cologne.

He adjusts it over his knees with an embarrassed little noise. Gabe is watching him. The rosary is no longer between Gabe's palms.

"I was," Jack starts. "That is I..."

"Nightmare?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not really that great at the whole pep talk thing. Sorry."

"It wasn't cuz of you," Jack says. "How long was I out?"

"Maybe twenty. You were shivering." Gabe tilts his head. "Rain's getting in."

It's true. On the inside of the window, dripping down the blinds is more than just condensation. Jack's hair is damp with it.

"Not like I'll get sick," he mutters, rubbing through the strands.

Gabe snorts. "Yeah," he says, just slightly derisive, "lucky us." He holds his hand out, palm up, curls his fingers. A come hither motion.

Jack crosses to him.

He isn't stiff thanks to the serum they'd pumped into him for months on end. The rain drips out of his hair, a droplet rolls down the cut of his jaw.

Gabe turns him at the hip, pushes down until Jack sits cross-legged between his knees. He takes the jacket from Jack's hands and drapes it over Jack's head.

Towel-drying. Rubbing it lightly through Jack's short hair.

"What are you doing?" Jack asks, glancing over his shoulder. He can only just catch Gabe's expression past the material. A flash here, a flash there, as Gabe moves the fabric against his head.

"No need to risk it," Gabe says. Matter of fact. "I'm just helping."

Jack licks his lips. "I think you were in my dream," he says.

Gabe's knee tenses against his shoulder. "Really was a nightmare then."

"Shut up, I'm being serious."

Gabe chuckles. The jacket slides to Jack's shoulders, slips lower, discarded on the floor behind him. Gabe's fingers trace the edge of his hairline, tickling the sensitive skin around his ears.

"Dream about me a lot?" he asks. That laughter softens the edges of his words, if Jack didn't know him better, he would think the question was a joke.

But the tremble in his tone is there. Gabe is showing his belly. This very conversation is an act of submission.

"Not the way you're asking," Jack says. He clutches at his own leg, digs his fingers into the stiff material of the combat fatigues. He half-looks over his shoulder again. Gabe's fingers have stopped moving. Hovering against the skin at the back of Jack's neck. "You dream about me like that?"

Gabe licks his lips. He won't meet Jack's gaze. He doesn't have to answer, the silence says it all.

"Gabe," Jack says.

He could still let the moment slide. He could still let them be what they have always been. These small transgressions don't have to go further.

"I want you too, you know."

Gabe's eyes flutter shut. He seems to deflate, letting out a breath Jack isn't entirely sure he knew he was holding. When he opens his eyes again, when his gaze finds Jack's, it is soft. His lips curling up into the gentlest of smiles.

"You got the worst timing, you know that?" he says. Soft and fond. His hands brush against Jack's cheek, knuckles grazing his lips.

The radio, clipped to Jack's belt, is silent.

Jack shifts to his knees, turns to lean his weight against Gabe's legs. Elbows pressing against Gabe's thighs. The muscles move and shift beneath him.

Gabe leans forward.

His breath smells like smoke, a hint of mint, something else. He breathes against Jack's cheek, taking stock. Hesitant still.

But Jack is done with waiting. He tilts his head just enough to angle their lips together, presses into Gabe's mouth with a sudden drowning insistence. Gabe's facial hair, rubbing against Jack's clean shaven chin is a new and wholly gratifying sensation. Itchy scratchy but in a good way.

It keeps Jack grounded.

Reminds him who this is he is kissing.

"Jack," Gabe says, voice thick. "Jack, we can't do this."

Jack swallows. His fingers scrabble against Gabe's belts until a hand on each wrist stops him.

"Jack," Gabe says more firmly. "Not here."

"I've waited a damn long time for this," Jack says. Fingers opening and closing, clenching in midair. "And now we're finally here and you want to wait?"

"We're on a job."

Like Jack could forget. He snorts, tugs his wrists out of Gabe's grip. "We could be stuck here for hours."

"We just..." Gabe says. He looks heartbroken. Jack feels just a little bit bad.

"I get it. We have to be prepared. It's part of the job."

Gabe only stiffens a little when Jack smoothes his fingers across his cheeks. Gabe's scar is tough under his fingertips, Jack presses his nail lightly against the skin, just to feel the resistance.

"I don't want you to think I'm rejecting you, Jack," Gabe says. Jack's fingers have found his lips, tugging at the thin, delicate flesh. "I want you so bad sometimes I can taste it. I think...sometimes I think that--I mean if you get hurt, Jesus Jack." His eyes flutter shut. Lips pouting against Jack's questing fingers, unhurried little kisses.

Jack leans up, replaces his fingers with his lips. A slow, drawing thing.

Blessed art thou among women.

And blessed the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

Jack.

"Jack." Gabe is breathing against him. His breath is warm. "Jack," he says again. "Jack."

The radio, traitorous, crackles to life. Ana's voice, tinny and distant. Muffled by layers of static. "Got movement in District Two," she says. "ETA fifteen. Ready, my boys? Over."

Jack closes his eyes, leans his forehead against Gabe's. His lips feel chapped, kiss-swollen and tight. He licks them as he lifts the radio to his mouth. He keeps his thumb pressed against Gabe's bottom lip, just because he can now.

"Reading you clear, roof pickup? Over."

"Street," she says. "Over," she says.

Gabe sighs against his skin. "Show time," he says. He sounds like he should be smiling but he is not. His expression borders on grim.

"We're gonna be fine."

"I know."

"I've got your back, Gabe."

Gabe nods, tugs Jack's head back in to place a tender kiss against his cheek. "I know," he says again, sharper than his motions. "I know."

A hundred times.

A million.

Holy Mary, mother of God.

Holy Mary, mother of God.

Holy--

Jack can't breathe. The bullet punches through him, he can feel it, worse than serum and fire. Worse than anything. Tearing. Ripping. Gouging.

\--Mary, mother of God.

The prayer is only thing he can think of. Repeating and endless. Gabe's rosary. The spinning beads. Falling through the air like raindrops.

Lighted in neon. Greens and blues now. Pink and purple. Green and blue. Pink and

Slow motion.

Pray for us sinners, now, and until the hour--

Jack blinks.

His shoulder is an expanse of pain, biting, searing. If he turns his head just right, maybe he'll see the bullet, arcing out of him. But he can't turn his head. Everything is underwater. Everything is taking too long.

The beads, free from their string, torn asunder. Bouncing to earth.

Jack hits the ground. The air is pushed from his lungs in a rush. His shoulder is black with blood, alternating between shadowed purple and grey with the changing neon.

Gabe is standing over him.

In the yellow of the muzzle flashes, he looks like a demon. Neon hell lighting, stark and harsh realities. His body armor is cracked. Chunks of it missing. There is blood on his neck. Brighter than Jack's shoulder.

The rosary beads bounce against the ground. Jack imagines he can hear them over the din of gunfire. Omnic and human screaming.

Gabe looks down at him. His shotgun is tucked under his arm. His lips are moving. Jack cannot hear him over the sound of those glass beads shattering, clattering.

Hail Mary full of Grace, he could be saying.

Or

"Jesus fuck, Jack, don't you die on me, you son of a bitch, get up! Get the fuck up! Jack!"

"I'm not dead," Jack says. He sits up, wincing, his shoulder is agony. He clutches at it, presses his palm tight against the torn material. Blood seeping through his gloves, blood fresh and wet against his palm.

The bastion unit is down. But in the hazy, burnt out street others are still moving. Omnic, humans, gunfire and smoke.

Gabe pulls Jack to standing by his good arm. He steps closer when Jack swoons against him. More blood, dripping down the side of his face. Metallic and warm against his lips.

"You scared the shit outta me," Gabe says, tight and low and rumbling.

This not a good place for conversation. But Jack tightens his grip on Gabe's arms before Gabe can pull away from him.

The battle rages.

It can wait.

Jack takes just a moment, a heartbeat, a breath. Feels Gabe warm and alive against him.

It has begun to rain again. Jack isn't exactly sure when it had stopped. But it's going now. Washing the blood from his face, from Gabe's neck.

Jack's shoulder throbs.

There will be a time to deal with it later. Time for everything later.

Jack opens his eyes.

Down the street a little ways, haloed by the rain and the neon signs, an Omnic is flickering back to life. It's dim screen face flipping through static and lines of binary code.

Jack's rifle is back in his hands, scooped up from where he had dropped it. A pulse blast leaves the thing wrecked, twisted useless shards of metal and wiring.

Rosary beads crunch under Jack's boots.

Gabe is watching him.

A silhouette in the darkness. A pink and purple shape, bruised inescapable. Green and blue. Pink and purple.

They have a job to finish.

Jack holds out his good arm, palm up. The rifle shakes in his grip, fingers looser around the stock than he would like.

Gabe comes to him.

And together they move off into the darkness.

Blessed art thou. And blessed the fruit of thy womb. Pray for us sinners, now, and until the hour of our death.

Gabe's teeth are sharp and insistent, dragging down the corded cut of Jack's neck. There is nothing gentle about the way they come together, clashing. More of a fight then any idea of romance.

Jack's shoulder has been bandaged, though the skin had already been knitting by the time they had made it back to base. Angela had been the one to do the stitching, ripping the flesh back open to do repairs with her little nano-bots.

Precaution, she had told him. No use letting something heal up incorrectly.

She is new and young. Jack can't begrudge her the sense of purpose.

Gabe presses against the dressing, palm smoothing over the bandaged expanse and Jack opens his mouth to groan.

"Sorry," Gabe mumbles, dropping his hand to trace his palm down Jack's obliques. Fingertips tight against the cut lines of his abs.

"No," Jack says, shaking his head, leaning forward, careful to never let Gabe's lips get to far from his own. "Don't be. It's good. I don't--it doesn't hurt that much."

"Even a little hurt is too much," Gabe says. His voice is low. Like even whispering it here between the two of them is too honest. "I thought I'd lost you for a minute out there."

"Maybe you did."

Now and until the hour of our death.

"You lost your rosary."

Gabe shrugs. He lets out a shuddering little sigh against Jack's neck. His fingers wander still, mapping Jack's torso. "I can get another. Just glass and string. Doesn't mean anything."

"It was blessed right?"

"They all are," Gabe tilts his head back to meet Jack's gaze. His eyes are stern and dark. "You are too, you know that. Damn lucky that shot only got you in the shoulder." He knocks his knuckles against the bandages, taps them over, right above Jack's heart. Jack wonders if Gabe can feel how wildly it's beating. Thumping and strong under his touch.

Hail Mary, he thinks.

Over and over.

"You wanna worship me, Gabe?" He asks, teasing, drawing the words out just to see the effect they have.

Gabe's pupils contract. His tongue slides along his bottom lip.

"What?" he says. Playing dumb.

"You've been dreaming of it, right? Of me. So show me. Worship me. Let me feel it, Gabe. Let me have you."

Body and soul.

Pray for us sinners.

Jack thinks maybe he has pushed too far, twisted the game just a little too hard into blasphemy when Gabe licks his lips a second time. When he bites that plump, tender flesh.

But then he's dropping to his knees, close enough that his chin catches on Jack's belt buckle. Teeth scraping down the quivering skin of Jack's stomach.

The Agony.

The Garden.

The Ascension into Heaven.

Gabe's fingers make deft work of Jack's remaining clothes, his belt, his pants, his boxer briefs. They're all stripped from him with precision, tossed away from sight and from mind.

Gabe leans his head against Jack's abdomen and breaths. It has to stink, Jack hasn't showered since the mission. Gabe hasn't either. They're both ripe and sweaty, gun oil and smoke. Jack wouldn't have it any other way.

Jack's cock, nestled along Gabe's cheek, twitches.

"Gabe," he says. He feels drunk. Maybe it's the blood loss. He doesn't really know what to do with his hands. He pets the trimmed stubble of Gabe's scalp, fingers curling without purchase against the too-short curls.

"Yeah, Jack?"

Jack blinks. Slowly. Gabe is looking up at him, not shying away from eye contact, even there down on his knees. He isn't blushing. It probably says something about the two of them.

"If you're gonna tell me you're a virgin or that this is your first time or something, I don't know if I can hear it," Gabe says. His lips are dry. They ghost over the skin of Jack's cock.

Another twitch, a rush of blood. It catches this time. Jack can feel the way his cock has begun to harden. Gabe eyes it; lifts a hand to circle it. His fingers are gun-calloused and rough.

"'M not," Jack says, gasping, rolling his hips at the touches. "Not any of those things."

"Didn't think so."

"Put me in your mouth," Jack says, panting. He licks his lips, has to keep doing it. The air is too hot. Everything feels too dry, too electric. One stray spark and everything could go up. "Please, Gabe, you look so good like this."

Hail Mary, full of grace.

Gabe does. He doesn't make Jack plead any longer than that. His mouth is warm and wet and inviting. It's not the first time Jack has had his dick sucked, even before SEP he was attractive and fit and popular, but it has been a long time.

His manners are rusty. He can't help the way he shudders and moans and thrusts just a little bit every time Gabe pulls back for air. The cycle repeats; Gabe trills his tongue against Jack's length on every down stroke, hollows his cheeks as he pulls up.

Jack trembles between Gabe's hands. Too close already to coming. He sucks a breath in through his nose. His eyes are watering, but he won't blink. He doesn't want to miss even a second of this.

Gabe's eyes are half-lidded, his lips stretched nicely around Jack's girth. He looks far too good. Practiced and at ease.

Jack's hands press, desperate, at Gabe's hair. The pressure, the slick heat. It's undoing him and even with super soldier stamina, he's not sure how quickly he'll be recovered for a round two.

"Gabe," he says. "Up here. Come here." He's tugging on Gabe's shoulder as he says it.

Gabe seems reluctant to listen. His breath puffs across the swollen head. Fingers tracing Jack's circumcision scar, the raised, ragged little line.

"You taste so good, Jackie. What if I don't wanna stop? It's about you right? God, I've wanted this so long, Jack." Gabe's voice is thick and full. It matches his cock, the way Jack can see it tenting the front of Gabe's fatigues.

"I wanna come together."

"That's cute, Boy Scout. Real sentimental."

"Gabe."

"I'm coming up, it's okay." He doesn't make space between them as he rises from his knees. His mouth, his fingers, his palms; they trace the journey, meandering, learning.

Gabe hesitates at Jack's lips, pauses, unsure. Jack doesn't care, he mashes their lips together, digs his teeth in in admonition. Gabe's belts and clips and zippers seem to take terrible long to undo, loud as anything. Desperate as a prayer.

Pray for us sinners, now, and until the hour of our death.

Jack grunts when Gabe's pants are finally, finally tossed away. Makes another, lower, more embarrassing noise when Gabe squeezes their cocks together.

He's thicker than Jack, uncut. But even Gabe's hands, large as they are cannot reach completely around them both.

"Look at us," Gabe says. Reverent. Quiet. "Look at you leaking."

It's true. Jack's cock, rosy and steadily dripping precome. Shiny from Gabe's spit. Gabe's dick is a healthy, ruddy shade of brown. The contrast is alarming, artistic.

Hail Mary, Hail Mary. Mother of God.

"Holy shit," Jack mutters. He looks away, he has to. His eyes flutter shut as Gabe begins to stroke. His hands catch on Gabe's shoulder, bracing. "Holy fuck. Holy God, Gabe."

"You always this easy to work up," Gabe asks. His teeth are pinpoints on Jack's threat. Memorizing Jack's hectic pulse with his tongue.

"N-no. I don't--serum's got me--"

"Sensitive."

"Yeah."

"Liar. I believe you've always been like this. Begging."

Maybe he always has been. Jack cannot remember any other time but this time. Every other encounter withers and fails. His hand joins Gabe's exploring the head of Gabe's cock. Pushing and pinching at the foreskin.

Jack's palms are sweating. His brow is. Gabe is huffing as Jack continues playing with him.

Every breath between them is a prayer, something cannot should not be.

Until the hour of our death.

Jack's voice catches over a groan, low, guttural moan of Gabe's name. "Fuck," he says "oh shit, Gabe. Gabe. I'm--"

"It's okay, Jack. I got you, go ahead," Gabe says, his voice reverberates against Jack's skin.

I've got you.

Your back.

Until the hour of our death.

Jack rolls he head. His eyes are closed.

And he is coming.

Until the hour of our death.

Amen.

**Author's Note:**

> Righto there we are. Consider it a late Christmas contribution. Hope we didn't all gag from how utterly pretentious I waxed poetic here lol I just really needed to get something angsty and lofty out of my system
> 
> Also cool to note--Jesus Falls a Second time is a Station of the Cross not a Rosary Mystery but like w.e.
> 
> Anyway if you feel anything needs to be tagged stronger, or if I missed any major tags, or if you just wanna say hi or talk shoot me a comment or like send me something on tumblr (@vrunkas)


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